The Death Train Keeps Rolling
NAVIGATING ANOTHER LOSS AND THE HEALING POTENTIAL OF ANTICIPATORY GRIEF
My mum’s sister died last week, just shy of her eightieth birthday. She was the eldest of the five siblings, with my mum next in the birth order. Her death was both a tragedy and a relief. She had been suffering for years from a variety of physical and mental illnesses, namely Parkinson’s and bipolar disorder. She required round-the-clock care in her last few years, years of discomfort and pain that ranged from mild to agonizing. No one wanted her to die, and no one will argue that the end of her suffering isn’t a blessing of some kind.
I don’t know the full extent of what my mother and her siblings are feeling right now. They aren’t the most communicative bunch of folks, especially when it comes to emotions. It’s both a generational and a location (Caribbean) thing. Three years ago, when my mum suffered a minor yet impactful stroke a few months after my dad died, and I suggested she see a therapist because obvious reasons, she responded, “I don’t need to talk to no therapist. What a stranger going to tell me about myself I don’t already know?” *sigh*
Despite all the death I’ve experienced in the last ten years—now eight people for those keeping score—I can’t fully relate to what the living siblings might be feeling since both of mine are alive and well. I imagine thoughts of their own mortality are front and center right now. Maybe not. They are younger than my aunt who died, and mostly healthy. Plus, my grandparents died in their nineties so maybe they’re thinking they’ve got at least two decades left? I could ask what and how they’re feeling, but y’know…see previous paragraph. Also, no one wants that kind of interrogation so soon after such a big loss. The Caribbean Christian stoicism is strong, however: “When de good lord fit to take you nothin’ you can do about it.”
I was a hot, blubbering mess the evening my aunt died. And the next day. Some of my sadness was for her. Some of it was the expected upswell of grief from previous losses. Most of it, however, was anticipatory grief for my mother. By age, she’s likely the next to die. It probably won’t happen anytime soon, though. Given her current health regimen—how many raw-nut smoothies should a person be drinking anyway?—she’s fighting back the grim reaper with every ounce of strength and knowledge and space in anyone’s suitcase willing to bring her supplements from foreign parts. She keeps telling anyone who will listen that she’s retired, and yet she’s still working harder than I am. I suppose the physical and mental activity is good for aging—she still does mental math better than I ever will but to be honest I’m a really low bar—and too much of a good thing can start being bad for you.
My relationship with my mother is…awkward. And that’s vastly improved over what it used to be. We’ve never been close. We don’t have the kind of mother-son relationship that feels like a friendship. We don’t have mutual interests or engage in heartfelt sharing. Our personalities clash, our beliefs seldom align, and as far as she’s concerned she will always know what’s best for me because she’s my mother. Despite all that, I know I will be a wreck when she dies. Good times.
If we don’t have a great relationship with someone we believe we should, and we know our time with them is soon ending, we might feel pressure to heal the relationship. Like I always say, don’t should on yourself, no one wants to clean up that mess. For a variety of reasons, some relationships can’t be healed. Some of us learn to accept that, some of us struggle with it. Some of us avoid the healing work because we believe it will be too hard or too painful. Some of us get stuck in our own righteousness and indignation, stubbornly refusing to open our hearts to the possibilities. Some of us lean in and experience the connection we always yearned for, even if only for the briefest of moments.
Anticipatory grief invites us into all the possibilities. As we discern our RSVP, remember that every relationship is unique, every course of action nuanced, every outcome need not fit into a binary of right or wrong. In the end, being at peace with ourselves may be the only metric that matters.
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You have my condolences on the deaths of all your loved ones. I wish you peace, love, patience, and resiliency in the years ahead. Thank you for being on this earth.
Wow, Ogun, that's a lot of death to process. Your description of your mother and your relationship with her is so vivid and honest. I really liked your observation of relationships that don't get healed. I have some in my family too. One will never heal and one I still have hope for.